The Definition Of Honor
by Bellephont17
Summary: Ever wonder how the whole "ill-conceived escape attempt" was organized? Why did Will wait for Cotton's parrot before moving? Why wasn't Jack more perturbed as the noose was slid over his head? And why on earth was Will wearing that ridiculous hat?
1. Unexpected Visitors

**Unexpected Visitors**

Will slammed his hammer onto the anvil, beating the life out of the glowing sword as orange sparks flew around him. He was taking his frustration out on the piece of metal. After having returned to Port Royal on the HMS Dauntless, there had been talk of throwing him into the fort prison along with Jack and the remainder of Barbossa's crew. Thankfully, Elizabeth had managed to convince her father and the commodore to place him under house arrest instead, saving him from being outrightly labeled among the colonists of Port Royal as a pirate. Within a few days he had been acquitted and freed to go about his normal life.

So now he was back at Brown's smithy, as though nothing had changed. He was refining a weapon he had started a few days ago. His master was once again lying drunk in his chair. But something _had _changed. For one thing, he had discovered himself – the hilt of the hammer, that had once felt so natural and right in his hand, was now heavy and awkward, and Will longed to exchange it for a sword.

"What have I become?" he thought glumly to himself, looking with disgust at the hand gripping the blacksmith's tool. "I'm no longer a blacksmith, but I'm not a pirate. What am I?"

Here he was, standing here, allowing himself to be cowed by British Royal Navy officials while Jack Sparrow's life hung in the balance. The man hadn't been what Will would call a best friend, or even a friend at all. But he had helped him rescue Elizabeth.

"And here I am, willing to stand by and watch him hang."

In a fit of frustration, Will threw the hammer to the ground, where it thudded unsatisfactorily quietly on the bed of sawdust. Picking at the bandage that bound his left hand, he remembered the battle in the cave. There, again, Jack had done Will a service by shooting Barbossa before he could murder Elizabeth. God, it was too much. There had to be something he could do.

But one man? Attempting to set a convicted man free in broad daylight, in the middle of a crowd, with the governor and the commodore and a whole regiment watching? It was insane.

A sharp staccato rapping came from the rickety back door, interrupting his thoughts. Will hesitated answering, knowing that a furtive knock from around back rarely boded well. But then the door began to jostle on its hinges, and Will decided he had better have a look before the unknown visitor had the door down.

He was shocked to find himself face to face with

"Mr. Gibbs!" Will exclaimed in a low voice. He gripped the doorframe. "Anamaria! What are you doing here?"

"I could be explaining that to you better if we were inside, Master Turner," Mr. Gibbs growled, keeping his head low under the cowl that shielded his face from passersby. "It's mighty dangerous out here for the likes of us, so if you don't mind . . ."

Will glanced back at the front door. If anyone decided to drop in now, he'd be off to the gaol as fast as a sword plunged in water lost its color. "Um . . ." He turned around again, pinning them with a glare he hoped was half as intimidating as the commodore's. "Why are you here? How did you approach Port Royal without being spotted?"

"Dead men tell no tales, Will Turner," Anamaria snapped. She was wearing the same huge hat that had covered her face during the recruitment process at Tortuga. She reached into her trousers and pulled the hilt of a knife threateningly. "We could just force our way in."

"Come in," Will opened the door wider and Gibbs and Anamaria slid inside. "But be quiet, will you?" He motioned to Mr. Brown. "He drinks heavily and sleeps heavier, but you can never tell what will wake him up."

Gibbs threw back the cowl, revealing his badger-like face. It was creased with worry. "We heaved anchor in a hidden cove not far around the coastline, then Anamaria and me rowed out. Had to pay the blasted geezer on the dock ten shillings to keep our names out of his ruddy book."

"Then you've heard about Jack?" Will demanded, relieved.

"We figured," Gibbs looked shamefaced. "It didn't sit right, us just leaving him all but marooned like we did. So we took in canvas once we were well out of sight of the Dauntless, and watched 'em ruddy soldiers take you three aboard. Plain as colors what they were planning for Jack."

"Some of the crew didn't want to follow them," Anamaria piped up, clenching her narrow, brown hands into bony fists. "It cost us a whole day making them see reason and a little blood besides."

Will winced. Sometimes he felt he could learn to accept pirates, and other times . . .

"We want to get him back," Gibbs said quickly, glancing around the smithy as though to make sure there was no one else listening. "But we need your help."

"Me."

"You, Master Turner. You're the only halfway-decent friend Jack's got, and the only one who will be able to get within a mile of that prison without being manacled."

"Thanks, I think," Will gave Gibbs a dubious look. "Still, what is it you want me to do?"

"Jack related to me your little trick with the cell hinges."

Will felt an inexplicable sense of pride. Jack Sparrow, master thief and liar, bothered recounting Will's escapist strategy in any detail to Mr. Gibbs? So there had been something besides cynical boredom on the pirate's face during the execution of that little trick. But . . .

"I can't do that again," Will objected. "There was no one in the prison except us at the time. It would be too conspicuous. And I'm in enough trouble as it is . . ."

Gibbs grabbed his arm. "No, hear me out. What I was meaning to infer to you is this: you say you built them cells?"

"I helped," Will corrected, growing suspicious. What were the pirates planning?

"Well, we're here, the Pearl is here. Ready for duty. But we've racked our brains for some kind of rescue idea and have come up cleaner than a hull two days in the water. Not a one. We're not Jack Sparrow, not all of us combined. If you could go down there and do what you might call a routine checkup on them cells and while you're at it just . . . slip in a few words to old Jack there, he might be able to come up with something . . ." Gibbs trailed off and licked his lips.

Will could feel their gazes on him. It wasn't exactly life-threatening, was it? However, now that he was faced with the proposition of actually helping these people, Will realized just how much was to be lost if he botched up an attempt to assist them – which he was most likely to do. He would go to the gaol and he would relay Gibbs' information to Jack, but that was as far as it would go.

"Very well," he said stiffly. "I'll do it. But that is as far as it goes. My participation ends when I walk out of that prison. Do you understand me?"

Gibbs' round face split into a weathered grin, and Anamaria's hand left the hilt of her knife.


	2. A FoolProof Plan

**A Fool-Proof Plan**

"I'm here to do a check on the gaol cells," Will told the guard at the top of the stairs which led down into the prison. "Mr. Brown said word had been sent for a smithy to see to it."

"I didn't hear anything about nothing," the guard raised his eyebrows.

"The message came last night, but we were bogged down with orders and so couldn't make it until morning. Here I am. Am I to be admitted or should I take the matter up with the commodore?" Will made as if to leave in a huff, and smirked gently in quiet satisfaction when the guard pulled him back the arm.

"No need for that. Come along, man."

Will shuddered involuntarily at the darkness of the prison, the cold dampness, the stink of it, and the raucous noise of coarse pirate obscenities that wafted up from the foot of the stairs. He blessed Governor Swann for saving him from spending days down here while he was being acquitted.

"I'm going to have to stay down here with you, you understand, as per regulations," the guard apologized in advance as they neared the bottom.

"That's quite alright," Will said easily. Best to ease the man's suspicions now so he wouldn't think to watch him too hard. "I'll only be a few moments."

As he ducked through the archway and into the prison, he scanned the cells for Jack. Most of them were crowded with Barbossa's crew. There were several empty ones, and – yes, there was Jack – on the far end. No doubt they wanted him alive for the hanging, so they had separated him from the others.

Will forced himself not to go straight to Jack's cell, and to first inspect the others.

"Ahoy, pretty bastard, what'd you want here?" shouted one pirate from a jam-packed cell.

"If it isn't Bootstrap's whelp!"

" Come to join the family, boy?"

Will ignored them as best as he could, bending down and running his hands over the bars, hinges, and locks of the empty cells far to the right. He endured thwacks on the head and spittle as he examined the pirates' cells. He forced himself to take his time with each, knowing that it would be suspicious if he skimmed over these only to linger on Jack's.

"Leave off, scum," shouted the guard as one pirate grabbed Will's ponytail and thwacked his head against the bars. "Don't make me stick you."

Finally, Will got to Jack's cell. Jack was slumped with his back against the bars, arms folded, hat over his eyes. He looked as though he were sleeping, although Will could tell he was not – he could almost _see _Jack listening and waiting. Will crouched down opposite him, running his hands over the lock as he spoke in an undertone.

"Jack."

"I was wondering when you'd get here, boy," came the gruff but quiet reply.

"Gibbs sent me."

"Ah." The smugness in his tone was unmistakable. Will assumed that Jack had guessed what Gibbs' course of action would be. "And?"

"They've got the Pearl anchored off Port Royal and are willing to extend their services, but they need you to come up with a plan." Will moved on to the hinges, careful not to look too directly at the pirate, lest it arouse suspicion. He contented himself with a sideways glance.

The pirate was grinning, a glint of gold teeth glimmering in the lantern light. "And what about you, Master Turner?" he asked softly.

"I'm simply relaying the message."

"I see," Jack mused. He was silent for a long time. Will was beginning to feel extremely conspicuous about the length of time he had spent crouched before his cell.

"Well?" Will grunted.

"I'll tell you what we'll do, Master Turner. You give me a little time, stall for it, say you've found some whatnot what needs fixing. Run back to your little smithy, fetch your tools, and by the time you get back here I'll have the makings of a fool-proof plan. Savvy?"

Will did not "savvy". He had already told Jack all he was doing was relaying the message. Coming twice in the same day to work on the cell that held his alleged accomplice was practically an admission of conspiracy.

"Jack, I . . ."

Will caught sight of Jack's balled fist. The tendons were stretched taut, the knuckles were white. So the pirate was stressed after all, despite his well-schooled voice. In all fairness, anyone would be, the day before their execution. Will relented.

"Alright, Jack. I'll see what I can do."

Jack didn't answer. Will stood up, shaking his head, the epitome of an overworked laborer who has just had another job tossed into his overburdened lap. "Can't anyone set hinges the proper way?" he lamented, stalking back to where the guard waited.

"Problems?" asked the guard.

"The last cell on the left has a problem with the hinges," Will sighed, wiping his hands on a handkerchief to rid them of the grease and rust – and sweat. "I'll have to get my tools and come back to set them properly."

The guard nodded and accompanied him back upstairs. Will breathed deeply of the cleaner, warmer air, relieved to be out of that hell hole. Even the smithy would be appealing after that.


	3. An Agreement

**An Agreement**

When Will got back, he found Gibbs and Anamaria still waiting, crouched in shadow. Gibbs had one of Mr. Brown's bottles in his shaking hand. Will groaned internally, knowing that he would have to take the rap for the missing liquor.

"Well?" Gibbs shot up from his seat and strode over. "What'd he say?"

"He acted as though he knew you were coming," Will said. "I'm to get some tools and go back. He's thinking now."

"Good, good," Gibbs grinned, and toasted no one in the air. "He's thinking." And he threw back his head and took a long, hard drink.

"Well?" Will demanded the moment he reached Jack's cell.

Jack was still in the same position he had been in twenty minutes ago. He didn't look up or move as Will approached and began to work with the hinges.

"Here's what I've been thinking," Jack began. "Most attempts of this nature are best accomplished when the element of surprise is on one's side. Therefore, we're going to have to wait . . ."

"Until the opportune moment, I know," Will sighed. "And what do you mean 'we'? Don't include me in this, Jack. After this I wash my hands of the matter."

Jack sighed. "William? Can I ask you something?"

"Last time you said that it resulted in you getting your face smashed in with an oar," Will retorted, unscrewing a screw with small, precise movements. "Don't ask me, Jack."

Choosing to ignore that particular request, Jack plowed on. "William, what is your definition of the word 'honor'?"

"This is hardly time for a grammar lesson," Will resisted being pulled into this particular conversation, one he knew in his heart he would lose if he gave Jack half a chance. He sighed at Jack's silence, knowing he wouldn't go on unless he got this off his chest first. "Honor is respectability, civility, decency."

"Aha," Jack grunted, shifting position so he was leaning slightly farther away from Will. He looked at him from under the brim of his leather tricorn hat, his dark eyes pinning Will uncomfortably under the pirate's scrutiny. "By my reckoning, it would be the repayment of something due. Now, would you consider it respectable, civil, decent, or whatever other high-toned fancy you wish to spout, for one man to leave another to die, when said first man was only alive and breathing God's sweet air because of said second man?"

Will continued to work in silence, a muscle tightening in his jaw. "What about the Code?" he demanded. "Any man that falls behind is left behind. You, of all people, should appreciate that."

"And as I recall, your retort to that particular phrase was 'No heroes among thieves'," Jack pointed out.

Oh, Will wanted to smash something. He wanted to break something so badly, preferably over the pirate's head. His hand tightened on the tool he held.

Jack spoke again, softer this time, almost inaudibly. "You fell behind, William." The pleading tone was so different from any Jack had ever used before, Will almost looked directly at him. Could it be that Jack was actually begging for help? Or was it simply another ruse to play on Will's sympathy and get him to do as the pirate wished?

Will swallowed. "That's not fair, Jack. You only helped me because you wanted the Pearl."

"Not true," Jack argued, raising his voice slightly before remembering that they were not supposed to be overheard. "The Pearl was floating right there, and the commodore had obligingly handed me a boat. I could have detoured and waited until your lily-white throat had been slit and the curse was lifted. Barbossa and his men would have walked right into the Royal Navy's arms, there'd have been a big fight, and I could have slipped aboard me ship and been out of there faster than a shark in cold water."

Will was silent.

"Don't think the thought didn't cross me mind," Jack insisted.

Heart sinking, Will realized he had been trapped into playing along with Jack Sparrow once again. The only reason he had found any justification in hesitating to help him was because he had believed that Jack had rescued him only as part of his plan to get the Pearl back. Now that that particular belief had been blown out of the window, he could not walk away from Jack with his honor intact. Nor, at this moment, did Will wish to walk away.

"What do I do?" Will demanded thickly.

"_That's _the spirit," Jack beamed, all angst apparently forgotten. "I'll run over the particulars while you fiddle around with that half-pin barrel hinge of yours. Listen close, because it's going to be tricky. Think you can keep up?"

Will couldn't help a wry grin. When had anyone been able to keep up with Captain Jack Sparrow?


	4. In Between The Lines

**In Between The Lines**

The day of Jack's execution, Will stood in front of the small chip of mirror he used to shave by. He could just see the reflection of his hatted head through the grimy surface and he grimaced. It was certainly ridiculously brazen enough to alert Jack to his presence in the crowd of spectators. He felt the scabbard under the long concealing cloak that was draped over his shoulders. Will only hoped he would be able to perform that particular sword trick. It had been a spur of the moment reaction, he prayed he would be able to duplicate it on command.

Quickly, he ran over the plan in his head. Gibbs and Anamaria had gone back to the Pearl late last night after hearing Jack's plan. They were both visibly relieved when said plan did not involve them actually leaving the ship and infiltrating the fort. Their only part was to wait by the shoreline near the fort, and to loose Mr. Cotton's parrot when they were in position.

Will strode quickly across the smithy to the front door. Mr. Brown stopped him with a croak. "What are you doing all dressed up like that for?" he rasped. "Don't tell me you're going to the fort."

"I am," Will grunted.

"I suppose it would be rather interesting to watch a hanging again," Mr. Brown mused drunkenly. "Has been ages."

"I wouldn't bother going if I were you," Will told him, opening the door. "I don't believe there's going to be a hanging today."

"Well, I'm feeling rather good about all this," Jack announced loudly from behind Will as the officers lowered their weapons and were ordered to stand down.

Will, distracted by the color and shape of Elizabeth's eyes, only vaguely heard the pirate's rantings and various forms of farewells.

"Will . . ." Jack said abruptly.

Pulled out of his reverie, Will looked up, startled by Jack's first use of the name "Will". He'd come far from "Young master Turner", apparently. There was a short pause as Jack obviously struggled for what to say. Jack, speechless?

"Nice hat."

Will grinned. Had he really expected anything but a shallow and jest-filled comment on nothing in particular? For all his skill with words, Jack wasn't the sentimental type, and never would be. He didn't need to be. The pause between the words spoke for him.


End file.
